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<title>The Lover, Crossed Out by ApolloAttraction</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912832">The Lover, Crossed Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction'>ApolloAttraction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Background Relationships, Biting, Bondage and Discipline, Cheating, Dom/sub Undertones, Dream Sex, Finger Sucking, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Silent character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:08:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan’s dreams had run through him tonight, wildly dragging him from scene to scene. Every time, it’s a different place- a different person talking. Look, they urge him. You’re alone, again. And here’s Adam leaving to college. And here’s Gansey driving away with Blue. And here’s Opal declaring she wants to live in Lindenmere. So far, he’d confronted them all with shame, reeling at the fact that he’s too selfish to truly be happy for them. </p><p>Kavinsky’s different, though. Kavinsky is the boy that would rather break than bend...</p><p>“You don’t have to touch me.” Ronan lifts his head and meets Kavinsky’s eyes. “Just let me use you, ok?”</p><p>Maybe if he’d been this direct with the real Kavinsky, things might have turned out differently. He never wanted to think of himself as that kind of person, though, and he certainly didn’t want any one else to think of him that way. Either way, none of that matters here. This isn’t real life, and this Kavinsky only nods his head eagerly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Lover, Crossed Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The apartment that Ronan stands in is unfamiliar, but the man standing in front of the window is not. It had been almost a year since he’d seen Kavinsky, but he looks exactly the same- sullen, sharp, and dangerous. He stands at the far wall with his back to Ronan, his hands gripping the viewing rail set into the floor-to-ceiling windows that cover the wall. The white dress shirt he wears stands out starkly against the darkened cityscape beyond him, but Ronan can’t look past the slope of his shoulders to see the buildings below them.</p><p>“K,” Ronan says helplessly.</p><p>The word slips out, barely a whisper, but loud enough that it startles both of them. Kavinsky whips around fast enough that the sleek, silk scarf draped over his neck falls immediately to the floor. His surprise settles into sly smugness when he sees Ronan. He leans back against the viewing rail and starts to open his mouth.</p><p>Ronan crosses the room with the sort of speed that only a dream can afford. He smacks his palm against Kavinsky’s mouth. “Shut up,” he says, then adds more emphatically, “Stop.” The second part is fierce and desperate and more to himself than the dream before him.</p><p>The real Kavinsky is thousands of miles away, posted up in a residential facility in some big city on the west coast. It’s the sort of distance that came from fictive court orders and left no way for Kavinsky to tap into the ley line for anything, even just dreaming. Which meant that this Kavinsky is as fake as the rest of the dream; just another stab at Ronan’s insecurities.</p><p>Ronan’s dreams had run through him tonight, wildly dragging him from scene to scene. Every time, it’s a different place- a different person talking. <em>Look</em>, they urge him. <em>You’re alone, again</em>. And here’s Adam leaving to college. And here’s Gansey driving away with Blue. And here’s Opal declaring she wants to live in Lindenmere. So far, he’d confronted them all with shame, reeling at the fact that he’s too selfish to truly be happy for them.</p><p>Kavinsky’s different, though. Kavinsky is the boy that would rather break than bend. He wanted Ronan on his terms and his terms only, and if he couldn’t have that, then he’d rather throw himself into the flames. Literally. Ronan still dreams about yanking Kavinsky from the top of the Mitsubishi on the Fourth of July. He’d cut Kavinsky off from the ley line that night, stealing his ability to take things from his dreams. He hadn’t known he could do it, and despite saving Kavinsky’s life, he wished he hadn’t done it at all. The only dreamer he knew, gone. And here he is alone, alone, <em>alone,</em> again.</p><p>“I don’t need to hear you run your mouth,” Ronan hisses, his hand still firmly pressed to Kavinsky’s face, pushing his head back against the window.</p><p>Kavinsky snorts and narrows his eyes beneath his white sunglasses. He opens his mouth wide and turns his head, pulling two of Ronan’s fingers into his mouth at the first knuckle. He bites down on them. It hurts, but not as much as it should. When Kavinsky sees that he’s not getting the response he wants, he changes tactics and presses his tongue to them, dragging it tauntingly over the pads of Ronan’s fingers.</p><p>If this were anything but a dream, Ronan might throw a punch. Instead, he pushes his fingers further into Kavinsky’s mouth to press his tongue down and trace his gums. “What now?” Ronan asks with a smirk. His free hand pulls off Kavinsky’s shades and flings them away so that he can revel in the surprised look on his face.</p><p>Kavinsky’s surprise doesn’t last long before it shrinks away into a defiant glare. He slides his tongue between Ronan’s fingers, licking and sucking at them spitefully.</p><p>Ronan remembers seeing that look on Kavinsky’s face just before a race, and it stirs something fierce and desperate in his stomach. His heart beats brashly against his ribs, echoing the memory of <em>red light, yellow light, rev up, go</em>. He pushes his fingers deeper into Kavinsky’s mouth, hooking them over the back of his tongue and feeling his throat close around them as Kavinsky swallows. This is it, <em>the swirl of smoke, the smell of burnt rubber</em>, and he loses himself in the action. He pulls his fingers halfway out of Kavinsky’s mouth, then shoves them back in.</p><p>Kavinsky startles at first, making a small disgruntled noise before he goes back to sucking and licking at the digits. He grabs the front of Ronan’s shirt and yanks him closer, bobbing his head slightly and meeting Ronan’s eyes, still looking smug despite the flush on his cheeks and spit on his lips.</p><p>Ronan uses his free hand to cup the back of Kavinsky’s head and hold it still as he slides his fingers to the back of his throat again. His breath comes out shakily as he feels Kavinsky swallow against them. “Hey, K,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Kavinsky’s ear. “I’m glad you didn’t lie about your gag reflex.” He presses deeper, feeling Kavinsky’s top teeth scrape against his knuckles. “I’m going to take them out of your mouth,” he says. “And you’re not going to say a word, ok?”</p><p>He pulls back to look at Kavinsky’s face and sees his eyes narrowed suspiciously.</p><p>Ronan shrugs and pulls his fingers back enough that he can rub them against Kavinsky’s tongue. “One word,” he warns, “And all of this stops.”</p><p>Finally, the meaning behind Ronan’s words seems to settle in. Kavinsky slowly nods.</p><p>Ronan pulls his fingers out, letting them linger for a moment against Kavinsky’s spit-slicked lower lip. Until he’d said it, Ronan hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to continue. Still, with his fingers cooling in the night air, he isn’t sure how to continue. “God, I hate you,” he murmurs, curling his fingers under Kavinsky’s chin and pressing his thumb to his bottom lip instead. “You just had to compromise a little. We could have figured something out.” Anger and jealousy flare in his stomach, and he knows he’ll despise himself for this when he wakes up. “If you wanted to break so badly-” he pulls Kavinsky’s lip down to see his teeth. “-you should have at least let me be the one to do it.”</p><p>The kiss he presses to Kavinsky’s lips is harsh and bruising, but that doesn’t stop Kavinsky from digging his fingers into Ronan’s biceps and pulling at him desperately. He arches into him, his lips meeting Ronan’s with a hunger and ferocity that the real Kavinsky definitely wouldn’t have carried a year later.</p><p>Ronan pushes his hands away, and when they come up to grab at him again, he pushes them up against the window and pins them there.</p><p>This is it, <em>the dashed white lines blurring into one</em>.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” Ronan says sternly and squeezes Kavinsky’s wrists in his hands.</p><p>Kavinsky’s nose wrinkles and his mouth pops open to protest.</p><p>Ronan gives him a sharp look and his mouth snaps shut again. The movement and the pout that follows it are so comical that Ronan actually chuckles. “You really want it that bad?” he asks.</p><p>Kavinsky takes a deep breath, his jaw working where he clamps his mouth shut. He decides to answer by pressing his hips forward, pushing his clothed cock up against Ronan’s thigh. He’s unmistakably hard.</p><p>Ronan pushes his thigh between Kavinsky’s legs and lets Kavinsky grind himself against it for a minute. He watches Kavinsky’s hips move with hungry eyes. “Jesus,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and finally looks back to Kavinsky’s face. He moves Kavinsky’s hands from the window and places them on the viewing bar. “Keep your hands here.”</p><p>Kavinsky obediently wraps them around the glossy, wooden bar.</p><p>“Good boy.” Ronan smirks at the dirty look that gets him and presses his lips to the underside of Kavinsky’s jaw. He sucks hard on the spot and revels at the gasp that Kavinsky gives him in response. He licks the spot once and moves down, dragging his teeth over Kavinsky’s neck and down to scrape against his collar bone. He shapes his lips to the curve of it, kissing and biting along every inch of skin he can see. He leaves a trail of hickeys as his fingers work the buttons of Kavinsky’s dress shirt, slowly exposing the rest of him until he can push it off entirely.</p><p>Kavinsky gasps and hums, small moans escaping as Ronan works his way down his ribs and over his stomach. The skin between Ronan’s marks is dimpled with goosebumps, and his chest and cheeks are nearly the same color blush, even before Ronan settles on his knees in front of him. When Ronan hooks his fingers around the button on Kavinsky's tight, black jeans, Kavinsky lets out an impatient huff of breath.</p><p>Ronan looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Shhh,” he says and cups his hands around Kavinsky’s ribs. He leaves the jeans unbuttoned around Kavinsky’s hips and presses his mouth to Kavinsky’s hipbone instead. He bites down hard and sucks a hickey onto Kavinsky’s skin, earning himself a yelp and a deep, throaty moan. When he’s satisfied with the mark, he runs his tongue over the indentations where his teeth had been and goes back to pulling Kavinsky’s pants down around his knees.</p><p>Kavinsky’s cock is flushed and slick with precum, bobbing needily in the air.</p><p>“Fuck.” Ronan swallows thickly and drags the edge of one fingernail from the tip of it to the base. “You’re rock hard.” Before Kavinsky can make another petulant noise, Ronan passes his tongue over the tip of it.</p><p>Kavinsky keens and pushes his hips forward insistently.</p><p>“Nope,” Ronan says, popping the ‘p’ and pushes Kavinsky’s hips back. He hold him still and works him slowly, taking the head first and then dipping down halfway before pulling all the way off and repeating. He licks the underside of it, tracing the veins with his tongue and sucking lightly on Kavinsky’s sac before taking the head back into his mouth.</p><p>Kavinsky’s impatience and desperation rears it’s head again and he grabs the back of Ronan’s head with one hand, pushing him all the way down on his cock. Ronan gags slightly as the tip hits the back of his throat, and Kavinsky lets him come up halfway before he pushes him down again. He meets Ronan’s mouth with desperate little jerks of his hips and pants lightly every time he pushes Ronan down again.</p><p>Ronan lets him fuck his mouth until his thrusts get sloppy, then he takes Kavinsky’s hand from his head and pulls himself off Kavinsky’s cock. “It looks like you’re having trouble keeping your hands to yourself,” he says with a devilish grin. He holds both Kavinsky’s hands to the viewing bar and presses a feather light kiss to his hip. “I hope you weren’t close,” he teases.</p><p>Kavinsky groans, furrows his brow in frustration, and thrusts his hips toward Ronan again.</p><p>“You should've done what I said,” Ronan says and rests his head against Kavinsky’s thigh, waiting for his arousal to ebb enough for them to continue. As he’s waiting, he spots the scarf Kavinsky had lost earlier. He chances letting go of Kavinsky’s hands and picks it up from the floor. “Look,” he says smugly and holds the scarf up for Kavinsky to see. “I think I found some training wheels for you.”</p><p>Kavinsky gives him an annoyed look and rolls his eyes. His lips part slightly, but slide closed just a moment later, keeping all his thoughts locked away for a chance to keep going. He holds his hands out with wrists pressed together.</p><p>Ronan stands up and turns Kavinsky around, pressing his bare chest up against the cold window and watching his breath fog the glass. “I bet this feels familiar,” he says and pulls Kavinsky’s wrists behind his back.</p><p>Kavinsky laughs at that, completely unashamed of his misdeeds. He takes the momentary pause to step out of his jeans and waits with surprising patience as Ronan works.</p><p>Ronan ties the scarf around his wrists and knots it tightly. When he’s done, he pulls back to admire his work and finds himself drawn to the sharp angle of Kavinsky’s shoulder blades. He kisses between them and grabs Kavinsky’s hips, pulling them back so that he can grind his own erection against Kavinsky’s ass, feeling it press roughly against his own jeans as he cants his hips for more friction. He presses his forehead to the back of Kavinsky’s neck and lets out a small moan.</p><p>Kavinsky shivers when his warm breath ghosts over his back and hums pleasantly, even as his hands are caught uncomfortably between them.</p><p>Ronan stills his hips and moves slightly off to Kavinsky’s side so he can press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re so good, K,” he murmurs against Kavinsky’s skin, lightly running one hand along his spine. “You’ve always been good at letting me be selfish.” He stops his hand at the curve of Kavinsky’s ass and digs his fingers into Kavinsky’s hip. “That’s why you don’t have to touch me.” He lifts his head and meets Kavinsky’s eyes. “Just let me use you, ok?”</p><p>Maybe if he’d been this direct with the real Kavinsky, things might have turned out differently. He never wanted to think of himself as that kind of person, though, and he certainly didn’t want any one else to think of him that way. Either way, none of that matters here. This isn’t real life, and this Kavinsky only nods his head eagerly against the window.</p><p>Ronan presses another kiss to his lips before moving back behind him. He could dream up lube, if he wants, but there’s something so much more alluring and debasing about using his own saliva. He spits on the top of Kavinsky’s ass and uses his fingers to drag it down between his cheeks. He rubs his finger in small circles against Kavinsky’s hole, watching Kavinsky’s lashes flutter shut and his breath fog the window in little pants all the while. He pulls his fingers away and licks them before pushing one of them into Kavinsky.</p><p>Kavinsky inhales sharply and makes a small noise of discomfort.</p><p>Ronan kisses his shoulder again and pushes another finger inside of him. He stretches around Ronan’s fingers, tight and slick from his spit as Ronan pulls them out and pushes them back in.</p><p>Kavinsky grunts softly and alternates between wiggling his hips away and pushing them back onto Ronan’s fingers.</p><p>Besides his small pants and moans, he never makes a sound and it occurs to Ronan that he’s never seen Kavinsky go this long without talking. The revelation makes Ronan lick his lips and push a third finger into Kavinsky as a reward. “Damn, K,” he says, his voice breathy with delight and arousal. “You’re being so good for me.”</p><p>Kavinsky moans lowly and opens his eyes to look at Ronan with a hazy look. He presses his hips back urgently and moans again, so needily that it almost sounds like a whine.</p><p>What Kavinsky means is obvious, even before he pushes back enough to bury Ronan’s fingers inside himself. Still, Ronan lets him do it a few more times- watching the desperate movement of his hips, how his legs tremble with the effort of keeping himself up without his hands- until Ronan’s own arousal wins out and he pulls his fingers out of Kavinsky. He squeezes Kavinsky’s ass appreciatively and glances around the room. As much as he’d like to fuck Kavinsky against the window, he doesn’t want to end up holding him up if his legs give out; there had to be a better place.</p><p>The room is warm and inviting in the same way that an Ikea display room is, and just the same it has a large, black leather sofa sitting at the edge of a plush grey rug. Ronan thinks of what it’d be like to lay Kavinsky down on the cushions and fuck him slow, dragging it out until he came and then fucking him some more until they were both sore. It was an alluring idea, but not exactly suitable for the fire burning his his chest.</p><p>Instead, he pulls Kavinsky to the sofa by his bound hands and bends him over the arm of it so that his face is pressed to the cushions and his toes barely touch the floor. Here, he does decide that he’ll need lube. He thinks about the need for a moment, then slips his hand into his pants pocket and pulls out a small bottle that definitely wasn’t there when they started. He admires Kavinsky as he is for a moment, pulling one cheek aside to see his hole already looking stretched and sore. He doesn’t bother to warm the lube that he pours directly between Kavinsky’s cheeks.</p><p>Kavinsky gasps and shivers at the temperature, then throws a scathing look over his shoulder.</p><p>Ronan gives him a cheeky look in return before returning his attention to Kavinsky’s ass. He slides one finger inside of Kavinsky, making sure to get as much lube inside him as he can while the rest of the lube drips down over Kavinsky’s balls and down his thighs, pooling slightly on the arm of the sofa. When he’s satisfied enough with Kavinsky, he pushes his pants down just enough to free his cock and coats it with the rest of the lube in the small bottle. He tosses the bottle away and grips the back of the couch for leverage. He pushes into Kavinsky, sinking himself fully into him in seconds.</p><p>Kavinsky winces and sucks in a whistling breath through his teeth.</p><p>Ronan isn’t as practiced at this, even in real life, and he knows he’s moved too fast. Even then, it takes everything he has not to pull back and start fucking him in earnest. He tempers himself by grabbing Kavinsky’s hip with his free hand and gripping it tight. He blindly traces the bite mark he left there earlier and waits for the tension to ease out of Kavinsky’s shoulders before he moves again.</p><p>When he pulls out again, Ronan keeps his hand on Kavinsky’s hip. He pushes back in slowly and the noise Kavinsky makes is decidedly more pleased. Ronan does it again, listening intently to Kavinsky’s grunts and groans, delaying his own pleasure until he can’t help himself anymore. He pushes in harder and faster than he should, but Kavinsky doesn’t say anything. He just lies there moaning and panting as Ronan fucks him. Every now and then, Kavinsky whimpers, but it’s followed almost immediately by him frantically pushing his hips back again Ronan, like he wants as much of the pain as the pleasure.</p><p>Ronan thinks that has to be something he’s imagined into this Kavinsky, but it doesn’t stop him from putting both hands on Kavinsky’s shoulders and fucking him so fast and so hard that Kavinsky’s toes start to come up off the floor.</p><p>Kavinsky moans and he’s loud, and lewd, and beautiful.</p><p>Ronan leans over to press appreciative kisses to his shoulders as he buries himself inside of Kavinsky. He savors his pants and moans and whimpers, and then he presses the fingers of one hand against Kavinsky’s bottom lip. He traces his index finger over his lips, pulling lightly and slipping it against the soft, slick inner lip in question.</p><p>Kavinsky closes his lips around Ronan’s fingers in answer and sucks hard and desperate at the digit until Ronan adds two more. He pushes his fingers in as far as they will go at this angle and lets Kavinsky lick and suck and swallow around them as he pounds him from the back.</p><p>Kavinsky’s moans are muffled around Ronan’s fingers, but the apartment is still filled with the noise of them, their every grunt and pant and the slick sliding noise of them crashing into each other. It doesn’t take long before its too much for Ronan and he pulls back, dragging his spit-slicked fingers over Kavinsky’s shoulder as he leans back up. He’s already cumming before he’s all the way out of Kavinsky and his cum lands in stripes along his back, over the back of his thighs, and against his abused hole.</p><p>Ronan pants harshly, gripping the back of the couch tightly with one hand until he’s spent. His breathing starts to come more readily and he tucks his cock away and zips his pants, making sure that he hasn’t gotten anything on his pants; he definitely doesn’t want to explain having lube and cum plastered to the thighs of his pants when he wakes up.</p><p>Once he’s done with his own clean up, he squeezes the back of Kavinsky’s thigh with one hand and admires the mess he’s made. Kavinsky is covered in cum, spit, and lube. His hair is a mess around his face, but he looks tired and blissful, his own orgasm having happened sometime after Ronan had pushed his fingers down his throat. Kavinsky doesn’t seem to mind the mess on his back or his own cum drying on his stomach as he breathes deeply, his skin drawing taught over his ribs as he catches his breath.</p><p>Ronan’s pride doesn’t last long, though. Without the warmth of Kavinsky’s body around him, he feels regret start to sink in. There it is, the end, <em>the crashed Pig wrapped around the telephone pole, its mangled panels gleaming in the lamplight. </em>Ronan runs a hand over his shaved head and swears to himself. He’d wanted to be selfish, and here he had. He allows himself one last selfish act and runs his hand over Kavinsky shoulder blade before he leaves.</p><p>Ronan wakes up to the sound of Adam brushing his teeth in their shared bathroom. He lies in bed, overwhelmed with guilt and shame again. Even if it was a dream, it was still way out of line. He’d just felt so incensed seeing Kavinsky again. It brought out all the reckless, self-destructive parts of him that he’d tried to put away since he’d started dating Adam.</p><p>Adam pokes his head out of the bathroom with a lazy smile on his face. “It’s about time you woke up.”</p><p>Ronan swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yea,” he agrees weakly.</p><p>Adam’s brow furrows. “Bad dream?”</p><p>Ronan shakes his head. “A good one.” He sighs and sits up just as his phone buzzes across the night stand. He picks it up, desperately seeking a distraction, only to find Kavinsky’s name lighting up the screen.</p><p>
  <em>i got you a christmas present</em>
</p><p>It’s August, Ronan wants to reply, but an image message loads in immediately after and his heart sinks when he sees the same scarf he used to tie up Kavinsky in the dream.</p><p>Kavinsky’s messages keep coming:</p><p>
  <em>shit bruised my wrists</em>
</p><p>
  <em>make your boyfriend show you how to tie a knot, asshole</em>
</p><p>“Shit,” Ronan stares at the messages, feeling heat creep to his face.</p><p>Adam comes over to his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “What is it?”</p><p>Ronan instinctively hides the phone against his chest. “Kavinsky.”</p><p>“Another dick pic?” Adam asks, flopping down onto his side of the bed.</p><p>Ronan’s phone buzzes in his hand and he pulls it back to look at the screen. Kavinsky’s sent a picture of his hands and the bruises wrapped around his wrists. Ronan's eyes widen at the marks; he feels a second of pride before shame comes up to war with it. Any question of how Kavinsky was able to bring the scarf back is forgotten in a sea of defensiveness.</p><p><em>I didn’t know it was you, </em>Ronan types back furiously.</p><p>The message comes back quickly, as if Kavinsky has been waiting to send it.</p><p>
  <em>do you dream of me often, Lynch?</em>
</p><p>Ronan wonders which answer would be more damning as he reaches over and grabs Adam’s hand, folding it together with his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title is a line from Richard Sikens "Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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